


In The Closet

by gala_apples



Category: Rooster Teeth/Achievement Hunter RPF
Genre: Drunk Sex, Established Relationship, Fucking Machines, Multi, Open Marriage, Strap-Ons
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-18
Updated: 2018-03-18
Packaged: 2019-04-04 10:21:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,779
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14018160
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gala_apples/pseuds/gala_apples
Summary: Michael spends the night downtown, hopping from place to place, meeting different friends at different clubs, lounges, bars. There’s never a group smaller than five, and everything is good times. But it’s when he and Lindsay and Andy go home that the party really gets started.





	In The Closet

**Author's Note:**

> This is inspired from three different sources. 1) my 'accident' square on my prompt table. 2) the fact that Andy knows what Lindsay likes to eat for breakfast, thank you On The Spot 125. 3) this song: [Best Friend](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=grQDRC6aYFM). I actually listened to only this song on repeat as I wrote this.

It’s one of those nights where you forget how to stand up. Sometimes it’s because Michael’s wedged in at a busy bartop as thirty people try to buy drinks from the bartender at once, leaning forward on one leg so he can get closer to the guy hurriedly trying to take orders. Sometimes it’s because Michael’s telling a story far from the speakers, arm draped around someone’s neck, gesturing with the other arm, hand holding a wine cooler. Sometimes it’s because he’s just had a few more shots, and the alcohol all hits him at once. Michael can’t help but sway, the whole night long.

Sober, anyone would be concerned that the inability to be steady on their feet would make bar hopping difficult. Three sheets to the wind, Michael could not care less. He holds Lindsay’s hand as they walk down the street, and Andy drifts behind them, and if he scrapes his arm on a brick wall because they veer left, what does it matter? Aches and pains are for the morning, not for a night like tonight, when he’s so fucking alive he tilts his head towards the neon lit sky and howls. Laughter scatters like buckshot from Miles to Barbara to Chris as they relish his bullshittery, before they declare their intention to peel off. Michael lets them go with a press his his forehead to Miles’, slurring something about going forth and adventuring. Miles’ skin is wet against his, but it takes him a second to pull away. He’s one of the few guys at the company that truly understands the value of platonic affection.

Bar, club, lounge. The time slips away from Michael the same way the cash slips out of his wallet. In the deafening, sweaty blur that is the evening, Michael regrets nothing. If he hadn’t spent that ten bucks, Andy wouldn’t have raised the bar stool with Trevor perched on it over his head for a few shakey seconds. If he hadn’t stayed in that fourth bar for those extra fifteen minutes, he wouldn’t have seen Griffon fucking school that dickbag about power tools.

Eventually it’s last call. There’s a moment where it could turn into a house party, everyone voting on a place to go and drain the liquor cabinet of, but Meg begs off, jetlagged from her last con, so of course Gavin has to go with, and those no’s set off a wave of everyone requesting their Lyfts. Michael feels okay with that. It’s one of those times he wants to be drunk and in his pyjamas, chugging down a glass of fruit juice. The urge sucks when he’s only a few hours into his workday, it’s not like he can tell Trevor he can’t record videos today because he’s gotta go home to pull some flannel on, but it’s two am, and within his reach.

When their driver comes, Lindsay climbs into the car, and Michael helps shove Andy into the back before getting in himself. The driver’s a big guy, probably not the kind to feel concerned if someone gets into the front with him. It would make more sense for one of them to sit in the front. Michael doesn’t give a rat’s ass about sense. Jammed into the back, his entire side pressed against one of his best friends, Michael couldn’t be happier.

Things turn down a notch once they get inside. Not entirely, though. Not a single one of them mentions hitting the hay soon. Rather, Michael gives in to his urge to gulp down some juice; he pulls out the apple juice and the whiskey and makes himself a tall glass of Apple Jack, before making his wife and his friend their own mixed drinks. For Lindsay, grape soda and grape Sourpuss. For Andy, vodka and A&W root beer with some whipped cream, apparently it’s called a Voot Beer. Lindsay puts on some great music channel from Spotify, a perfect mix of rock, 90’s classics, and current day techno-pop. Michael’s not really a big music guy, he’ll listen to what people play with nary an argument. That said, he’s always been one for upbeat music when hammered. With a solid background of sound they open the Dirty Doodles app they’ve all got, and start a round of pervy pictionary. It’s not quite trance music and gyrating against anyone with a pulse, but it is a scene that gives him immense joy. Shit, does he love the people in this room.

Many rounds of dirty drawing and filthy jokes later, Lindsay declares her interest in a bath. She wants to soak in scalding, steaming water and sweat out the booze so she wakes up without a hangover. Michael grabs her by the hem of her shirt, and lightly pulls until she bends over to kiss him. Fuck is his wife hot, her v neck showing off her cleavage before she gets close enough that he can’t see. Her mouth tastes sticky sweet of grape soda, of course it does, and Michael wants it, wants to drink her in until she’s inside him.

But she wants to have a bath, so he has to let her go. Besides, Andy’s here, in the armchair with his feet up, and Michael knows no single guy likes to see the married couple rubbing their love in other people’s faces. 

“If you get to sleep before I come up, I won’t wake you up,” Michael vows, full of drunken sincerity.

“Cool. Thanks. Night babe, night Andy.”

They’re up for a while after she leaves, hammering back mixed drinks. Michael keeps with the apple juice and Jack Daniels. Andy goes to his bedroom briefly to retrieve a bottle of peach Smirnoff he just bought, and drinks it with some 7Up. They play some Smash Bros., since it’s a good drunk game. Doesn’t require positioning, or strategy, just some good old fashioned button and joystick smashing. Michael’s been doing this shit for a decade, the combo of any particular character is as rote knowledge to him as how to cook a steak.

Sitting knee to knee with Andy, drunk and confident and feeling every inch of his body, it’s a great time for Michael. There’s a reason why he drinks at work nearly every day. It helps him be more himself. Not in a fucked up, Geoff way, he’s not that far down that road. It just enlarges his personality, makes every trait a ten out of ten, good or bad. Ego, sex drive, and shit talking just happen to be some.

When Andy says he’s going to crash, Michael’s not quite ready. If he goes to bed now, Lindsay’s not going to be available for cuddling. Michael’s not the kind of husband that complains when his wife takes a while to get ready. He likes looking good too. The only situation Michael really notices the time ticking on is when she has a five hour fucking bath. All too common, and she’s got a Lush and Etsy-bath addiction to go along with it. Give him a four minute shower any day. So he stays up, drinks one last drink as he watches Mac and Dennis sell real estate in hideous yellow jackets, and contemplates jerking off. A jerk off session is a guaranteed orgasm, but if he has the patience to wait for Lindsay, he’s got about a 60/40 chance of sex. He loves his wife enough to play those odds.

He drunkenly deems it long enough as the credits on the episode roll. Michael rolls to his feet and starts the standard every night puttering. Electronics plugged in and charging, all the windows closed and the alarm set, a double check that the oven is off and the fridge is closed. Most important after a night like tonight, there should be a whole case of lightly flavoured water in the fridge so they can rehydrate in the morning. Michael’s on his way to check that the back door is locked when he sees it.

Normally it wouldn’t matter if Andy’s door was open. Normally he’d just be on his computer chair, arguing on a Star Wars forum, or watching dumb videos. But today it matters, because today Andy is stretched out on the bed, one knee up, to give himself better space while fucking himself with a dildo. Michael can’t look away. 

He and Lindsay have talked about this. They have a whole list of exceptions, people to briefly open their marriage to, should the situation ever come to pass. Sometimes even couples; the Ramseys, Meg and Gav. Michael wants Jack, a bear of a man, and Lindsay wants Caiti. Michael just never thought the one most likely to come up was Andy.

Michael is torn between going to bed and whispering to his wife about what he’s just seen, and staying to watch. Lindsay will want to know about this, what Andy looks like writhing on the bed and taking a full sized primary blue dildo. Michael wants to tell her about it, every detail of it, as he’s fucking her and licking her tits. That’s why he stays, in the end. He wants to have as much of this as possible to relate to her.

Michael can tell the exact moment Andy realises he's there. He turns even redder, if possible. He pulls his sheet up on top of him. Importantly, though, is what he doesn’t do. He doesn’t shout at Michael to get out. Instead he stammers, “wha, wha, what are you doing here?”

Michael doesn't buy it. “Why were you getting off with the door open?”

“I-” Andy doesn't know how to answer that one. Michael’s not surprised. He’s been friends with the asshole forever, and he’s always been bad at covering, creating explanations for the dumb things he chooses to do. In Andy’s mind it’s easier to turn a bad choice into a self-deprecating anecdote than to not do something in the first place.

Michael switches topic. “Nice dildo, man.”

“Shut up. Straight guys can like-”

Michael interrupts. “Bisexual guys can like it too.”

“What? You're?”

It's not that Michael is closeted. He doesn't consider himself so. It's that he only tells people who ask, people who have been flirting. If it had been him and Lindsay in that episode of Happy Hour where they buy sex toys together, it would have ended much differently.

Michael nods. “It's worked out fuckin' well, both me and Lindsay being. Makes the dirty talk better.” 

Andy stares at him like he's said something shocking.

“I meant what I said, man. That's a sweet fucking dildo. I bet that feels great.” 

“You seriously-” Andy cuts himself off.

“Hell yeah. I fuck myself, Lindsay fucks me. We even-” Michael maybe shouldn't be bringing this up, should make more of an effort to keep things more about negotiation the first time it’s brought up, save the action for when everyone's more clear on what's going on. But fuck that. He's drunk, and he wants this, and he knows it'll get Andy. “Come upstairs with me. I wanna show you something.”

“What?”

“Just fucking do it!” Michael snaps out. Thanks in part to gathering a collection of loved ones who accept love through gestures of light abuse, Andy responds to being yelled at. He pulls his thick blue dildo out with a squelch that's mostly muffled by the sheet. Michael gets a brief eyeful of hard schlong before Andy's pulling up boxers and standing up with the wince of the recently fucked.

He's quite a thing to look at as they travel the house. Michael's behind Andy on the stairs. He has a great view of the way the soft flannel sticks to the lube smeared on various patches of Andy’s ass, and all over his crack. It’s more alluring than lingerie. Once they’re at the top Andy makes him take the lead, as though he doesn't know where Michael's bedroom is. Michael looks back to check that Andy is right behind him and sees his erection bobbing. It's all enough for that sweet song to start to build in his lower half.

If this was a sure thing, Michael might lightly shove Andy onto the California king mattress and start by groping the shit out of his hard cock. He’d make Andy moan loud enough that Lindsay’d hear it through the closed master bath door, make his best friend _beg_ for cock. As things stand now though, Michael’s working with about a seventy five percent chance here, and that number is based entirely on how much he can entice Andy with what he’s willing to say is the best purchase he and Lindsay have made for this house.

“This is our Annihilator.” 

Michael finishes his statement by opening the door to their large walk in closest. Inside it hang no clothes, although the built in shelves have some stuff. But in the middle where you might put an ottoman for a dressing aid there is a fucking machine. It looks a lot like a weight lifting bench, apart from the weird box welded onto the end. 

Just like Michael said when all the so called fans were shitting on him for buying elite custom controllers; this toy is expensive, but he has a budget, and as long as he doesn't go over it who cares how he spends his money? In this case it just so happens to be elaborate sex toys he’s spent money on.

“It's your-”

“My fucking machine, Andy. Ours, really. She loves getting pounded too.”

Andy, despite himself, is intrigued. Exactly the reaction Michael knew he’d have. The seventy five percent estimate is going strong. “How does it work?”

“You pick one of six attachments, lay back, or whatever position, it's reasonably height adjustable, and get yourself plowed. But I recommend on your back. Sometimes it fucks so good you can lose control of your limbs, if you're on hands and knees. That’s a real dangerous chance to faceplant.”

“Holy shit,” Andy says.

He can’t say this is it, the moment he gets brave, because that shit already happened, bringing this up with Andy at all. Or hell, maybe the brave moment was talking with Lindsay about exceptions, about how they could be interested in another person and still love each other. So this isn’t _the_ moment, but it’s a moment, because Michael makes himself follow through and say “want to try it out?”

“Uh,” Andy hesitates. 

Michael knows he wants to. Andy’s still hard, and he’s staring at the box like he can see the cock coming out of it. He’s apparently just that closeted. Michael might let it go if he was sober, but he’s drunk, and that makes him say “it has a better rhythm than anything you could ever do to yourself, I fuckin’ promise you that.”

“Really? Fuck it. Yes. Yes I fuckin’ do, okay? Yes.”

He’s stammering and red faced and Michael’s pretty sure Andy wouldn’t be this honest if he was sober, but Michael knows he means it. He also knows Lindsay would hate to miss this. She’s as into his goofy stupid ass as Michael is. 

“I’m gonna go get Linds. Think about what position you want to try it, okay?” He has to give Andy a task to focus on, or he might start thinking too hard about what he’s admitted and freak out. There are a lot of things he doesn’t want to miss; seeing Andy get naked, him prepping himself again. Position pondering is something Michael’s willing to give up.

Lindsay looks beautiful soaking in the master bath. Her hair is pulled into a ponytail, so it’s still dry, but she’s up to her collarbone in sudsy orange and purple water. The colour of it and the scent in the air says she dropped in something from the basket under the sink full of Lush products. Michael's not sure if she's heard anything. Sometimes the earbuds she wears are so she can listen to a mindfulness mantra, but sometimes they’re just connected to some full blast music. 

“Babe, you're not going to want to miss this.”

“I'm chilling right now,” Lindsay says. “I thought you said you didn't need me for awhile.”

That’s not exactly what he said -he doesn’t think, exact phrasing of something he said an hour and a half ago while drunk isn’t his clearest memory- but even if it was, it’s not like Michael’s rousing her to help him fix the plumbing. “I don't need you, I want you. And you're really not going to want to miss this, I swear.”

“Miss what?”

Michael tells her with the delighted gravity of someone announcing who won Miss America, “Andy wants to use the Annihilator.”

“Andy wants to...” Lindsay shakes her head theatrically. She’s acting disbelieving, but there’s a hint of a grin around the edges. “You’re gonna have to say that again, I misheard you the first time.”

“Andy wants to take a ride on our fucking machine, because I found him drilling himself with a thick jelly dildo, and he’s into it.”

“Holy. Fucking. Shit. I’d splash some water on my face, snap myself out of it, except how am I supposed to witness this if I have glitter in my eye?”

Michael grabs a fluffy teal towel from the rack and holds it out to his wife. Lindsay stands up and steps gracefully onto the bath mat, a perfect fucking vision of sensuality before she snatches the towel and cursorily dries herself off.

She hooks the damp towel back onto the rack, something she’s only doing because she’s not rude enough to throw it to the floor in front of his face. Wet towels neatly hung over the blowing AC vent to dry, just another late night task Michael does each night. Naked, Lindsay gestures to the tub. “I'm not draining it, I just added a second bath bomb.”

“Fine, whatever.” It's not the biggest loss to Michael -what are bath bombs, seven dollars?- but he doesn't care enough to argue.

Lindsay wraps herself in a fleecy housecoat and follows Michael out of the bathroom. Her hand in his is still warm from the water, fingers a little pruney. They don’t look towards the bed for a second, don’t even consider backing down from this and just going to bed as a couple. It’s straight to the walk in closet, where Andy has laid down on the bench of their fucking machine. Why doesn't it surprise him that Andy’s bracing like he's about to lift weights?

“Get the fuck up, you didn’t pick your toy.” Laying with your asshole pointed at a motor on a stand gets you nowhere if there’s no dick on the machine. 

The simple instruction has Andy swinging his leg so he can sit up. He glances around the room, like the dildos will just be displayed in a shadow box. Of course it’s Lindsay who comes in with the save, offering Andy the basket of attachments. It’s a fantasy come true, Michael watching Andy give each toy it’s due attention before looking at the next. 

Unsurprisingly, Andy goes with the dildo the same size and girth as the blue one he left downstairs. Lindsay affixes it to the machine and Andy lays back again, the same on his back feet against the floor technique as before. It’s at base a good idea, but Michael knows it won’t quite be right. Not until he gets the two stepstools and plunks one on either side of the bench. 

“Put your feet up,” Michael says. He slaps Andy’s thigh as he unbends, one of those masculine affection moves. Lindsay even laughs at him for the bro-ness. Michael can admit the douche level, but he thinks this is more likely to go better if Andy still feels manly.

“That’s a good look for you,” Lindsay starts. As Andy stumbles with his response to the compliment she continues, “but wouldn’t it be better if you took your boxers off?”

They share a laugh at that, then Andy stands up. It is a fucking sight to behold, Andy peeling his boxers off, every centimetre stuck to his lube-tacky crack. He’s so dirty, he must feel so soiled. It’s a thought that makes Michael shudder, that makes him get even harder than he already is.

As he’s kicking the flannel to the side, Lindsay’s gotten their lube out. It’s an important tool to go with the fucking machine. Friction is not a good thing at two hundred and forty strokes a minute. Andy takes the bottle with an odd confidence, and straddles the machine bench. He places his feet where Michael instructed him to, and Michael can’t help but feel pride for what he’s had a part in making happen. Andy’s reslicked himself, and he pushes himself down the bench, until the dildo is just barely penetrating him.

With Andy perfectly situated Michael goes back to join Lindsay on the skinny cushioned bench tucked tightly against the wall. Michael takes a second to explain the remote to Andy, then sits back to watch him. Andy clicks the remote once, twice, finally three times. The Annihilator has seven speed settings so Andy’s on medium low. Michael’s very familiar with that setting. He knows them all, of course, you don’t buy something that expensive and not use it every way you can. But it’s just common sense that certain settings are better for different people, and Michael tends towards three when he wants a casual fucking, and six when he wants a crazy, hand wringing pile-driving. Lindsay’s go to, on the other hand, is five, although a one is great for teasing. Andy liking three is something he can dirty talk to his wife about later, once all of this is over.

Things start on the very extreme edge of platonic. That grey area of life events that you can't share with friends, family, or podcast audiences but that are still justifiable to all parties involved. Andy likes getting dicked. Michael happens to have an opportunity for supreme dicking. It’s not like he’s going to leave a thousand dollar machine in the hands of drunk fuckface here. No more than Gav would let someone have a go at his Phantom, or Burnie his Tesla. Or shit, how about: Michael’s as tender and protective of his custom built fucking machine as Blaine is of his cheat day pizza.

Unfortunately Michael can’t manage keeping it platonic. The facade begins to crumble when Andy starts panting heavily and Michael instinctively reaches for his hand. He reaches, and Andy takes it. His palm is sweaty, but Michael doesn’t let go.

He can barely look away, but he needs to make sure Lindsay is here with him, cool with this quasi-cheating. Michael twists to face her, blurts out “I love you, I love you, are you okay with this?”

Her response is “he’s so fucking hot when he’s worked up.”

Michael couldn’t agree more. Even if he never touches more than this hand, it’s still a memory he’s going to use for his spank bank forever. 

“Michael, pick one of the ones Andy didn’t,” Lindsay suddenly orders. 

Michael shudders, a thousand ideas of the next twenty minutes blooming in his head. He immediately stands and curls around the Annihilator to where Andy’s left the basket on the far side.

“What?” Andy manages to ask. Michael doesn’t blame him for being a bit confused. Lindsay is chaos at the best of times, things like sex and booze just heighten it.

“I didn’t get out of my Lava Lamp fizzer to not enjoy myself, alright?”

As far as explanations go, it’s a little lacking. And yes, normally Michael does get an affectionate kick out of fighting with Lindsay’s frequent insanity. Right now though, he’s on the much better mission of picking out a dildo from the accessories basket. Andy’s using one of his favourites, and the thin stimulation rod is out of the question, it’s the one they never use, but Michael’s still got four to pick from. The one with the ridges is very tempting, but so is the one with the thick set of balls. Michael likes the feeling of a hard hemisphere rutting against his crack, so sue him.

After a little drunk eeny meeny miny mo, Michael offers the dildo with the ridges to his wife. She smiles at him, then in one fluid movement stands and plucks the thing that looks like a mess of belts off the clothespinned hanger it’s dangling from. A secret from those in the know? It’s not a mess of belts. It’s a hot as shit harness.

Lindsay steps into the legs of the harness and pulls the strapping up her thighs. It takes a bit of squatting and fiddling, but after a second she’s got the vibrating egg nestled inside her cunt. It’s not turned on yet, but Michael still can’t tear his eyes away, and he’s sure Andy can’t either. Lindsay pulls the tiny triangle of fabric away from her pubic bone with as much give as it’ll give her, and pushes the ridged dildo Michael picked through the reinforced ring, then settles the whole contraption tight against her skin. She pulls the straps tight, and her cock stands at attention.

“Jesus Christ Lindsay,” Andy gasps. If there was ever any question in Michael’s mind about Andy’s orientation it’s solved now. You can’t fake a reaction of attraction like that. Maybe he’s closeted bi, but he definitely still likes women.

“I know! Hot shit, right?” 

Michael loves the confidence Lindsay’s got right now. She looks like a fuckin’ queen, in her open robe, breasts out and tits hard, cock out for everyone to admire. To hell with Gavin’s royal matriarchy, Michael will take his wife any day.

“Michael, kneel, okay?” It’ll be a ice skating day in hell, an willingness to perform on On The Spot day, before Michael says no to that kind of offer. But before he can sink down, Lindsay revises. “Actually, wait. No, not yet.”

In the course of his time at Rooster Teeth, Michael’s had the chance to witness a lot of different types of drunk people. Furniture rearranging is a niche type, he’s basically only seen Jack and Caiti do it, when they throw a big party. Maybe Burnie, once. Tonight though it’s Lindsay, who’s still tipsy and hauling the bench along the wall closer to the middle of the room. Michael doesn’t do anything to get in her way, just enjoys the way the heaving up of the piece makes her cock bob, the way her shivering means the egg’s definitely vibrating now.

It takes Michael a second to get it, understand her reasoning, but when he does, he loves her all the more for it. Now when he falls to his knees for her, there’s room enough between the padded bench and the wall that he can kneel facing Andy, instead of having to face the wall like it would have been before.

The big ticket furniture item in the room is of course the Annihilator, but that doesn’t mean it’s the only one. Obviously, considering the various ways they’ve tainted the entryway bench, innocently built to help people put their shoes on, now reduced to a sex aid. Another one Michael feels particularly grateful for though, is the wedge. It’s medium weight foam covered by black microfibre fabric, and it makes kneeling for hours a possibility. Michael tosses the wedge to the floor on the proper side, then descends onto it. He’s eye level with Andy’s prone body, and Lindsay knows exactly the right way to lean in behind him to get her cock to rub his taint. It’s fucking fantastic. 

She doesn’t hold back at all. Within seconds she’s got her wetted fingers sinking into his asshole, rocking them further forward with each movement. Michael fully extends his arms so he can bend over the top of the bench and grab the tops of the two wooden legs furthest from him. It’s a bit of a strain, but he knows from much experience that he needs something to hold on to. 

“Do it, fuckin’, fuckin’ do it,” Michael mumbles into the pinstriped cushion. He knows Lindsay will hear him. Even if she doesn’t, she’s going to take it downtown on her own accord very soon. The way the strap on is built, she gets a lot more enjoyment from the egg when she’s thrusting.

Sure enough Lindsay’s hand settles on his lower back within a minute. It’s all but a blinker coming on to signal a left turn. Her fingers are cool on his skin, she’s probably getting chills from being out of the warm water and undressed for so long. Michael mentally vows to have her heated by the end of this, sweaty, with her hair falling out of her ponytail from the stress it’s been put through. The firm tip of her cock presses against his hole, and then she’s in.

Some time in the proceedings of Lindsay getting ready, Andy turned the level of the Annihilator down. Michael didn’t see him do it, but he can hear the difference in the motor running, at only two it’s very low, almost a hum. Now though, that Lindsay is fucking him -and herself as a byproduct- in earnest, Andy clicks the remote on higher. And higher. He stops around where Lindsay likes it, a five, maybe a six, but Michael doubts it. If Andy was getting fucked at level six, he’d be whining up a storm.

Michael bears down with his chest as Lindsay fucks him raw, tries to bleed out some of the pent up pressure through his torso into the cushion. It’s a war he’s fighting against himself, keeping his eyes open so he can watch Andy, despite every muscle in his body wanting to close and clench. He’s sure his knuckles are white around the bench legs, as white as Andy’s face is red. 

Andy comes first. It’s not a surprise to Michael. Getting pistoned into by the best machine money can buy, how could Andy not be spoiled? Michael watches every second of Andy’s sweet cock jizzing all over his torso, pressing his chin into the bench so he can be as low as possible and give Lindsay the height to witness the same above him. He can tell he’s succeeded when her grip on his hips tighten enough to bruise. 

What is a surprise is Andy nearly instantly clicking the Annihilator all the way down until it’s off. Michael’s not always in the mood for overstimulation, for getting fucked past when a sane human would stop thrusting. He does love it, usually, but not always, and he can understand Andy not wanting that. But then Andy sits up and swings his leg over the side of the bench, and Michael gets this pit of upset in his stomach. Maybe this isn’t what he thought it was. Maybe Andy is going to storm out of the room now, slam the closet door behind him. What’s worse, Andy never mentioning it again, or fighting with them in the morning about feeling coerced? All of a sudden Michael wants to vomit, and it’s not from all the liquor coursing through his body.

Thank Jesus, his anxiety is swiftly proven wrong. Andy doesn’t stand up. He slumps down until his knees hit the floor, and then he crawls forward. For a second their faces are nearly nose to nose, and Michael’s drunken assumptions swing completely the other way. Is Andy going to kiss him? Is this going to become one of the scenes he and Lindsay have talked about, a dicks out, clits out, make out session? But Andy keeps moving. He crawls around the end of the bench and winds up kneeling mere inches away from them both. Michael can practically feel the heat radiating off Andy’s skin.

“You two are so fuckin’, fuckin’ hot,” Andy tells them.

Lindsay quips, “not too shabby yourself.”

“You look good on-” Michael cuts off to gasp as Lindsay gives him a particularly hard thrust. “On the Annihilator. You should use it again.”

Andy nods his head. Michael’s known him for too long, knows he’s holding something back. Even drunk, even straining towards his orgasm, he cares enough to demand “what? Say it.”

“Next time, like you said again on the machine, so that means a next time, right? So maybe next time we can, like, touch, or something? I mean we don’t have to, it’s okay, but I just thought, and you _said_ say it-”

Michael has never been more pleased with the goddess he’s married when Lindsay says “oh my god stop rambling. Yes we wanna have a hands on threesome with you. We’ll talk about it in the morning, ‘kay?”

Andy nods again. “Yeah, cool.”

Michael thinks there’s a fifty-fifty chance it actually comes up again tomorrow. Sobriety is a hell of a thing. He’s not going to borrow tomorrow’s problems for tonight though, so he just mutters “put your hand on my neck,” and lets Lindsay and Andy duke it out for who’s actually doing so.

That’s how he comes; Andy’s damp hand curled around his throat just a little too lightly, Lindsay drilling into him with the force of the abandoned machine in front of them. Michael spills over, and almost immediately starts laughing at his own thoughts.

“What?”

“There should be a splash guard on the underside of the bench,” Michael explains, and then giggles again. Lindsay and Andy join in, proving that immaturity is a trait held by all drunks. 

Lindsay pulls out of Michael then, allowing him to sit back onto his haunches. “If you two are set, I’m gonna go back to my bath.”

“Are you serious?” Andy asks. How he’s been living here for months and is still unaware of how much Lindsay likes her baths, Michael doesn’t know.

“Um, yeah? Me and the bath and my vibrating egg have a date, and I just can’t stand them up. Later, bitches!” Lindsay stands up, gathering her at some point discarded robe into her arms. She kisses Michael’s head and leaves the room.

“So, uh-” Andy starts.

“I’m going to shower and go to bed. You should too,” Michael instructs. 

“We’ll talk about stuff, uh, tomorrow?”

“You can make breakfast and get our asses out of bed,” Michael promises. He doesn’t even want to think about eating right now, but Andy’s a good cook, and it’ll be a good way to start a morning full of negotiations.


End file.
